


High Caliber

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Indulgent, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: Megatron is enchanted by the differences between Deadlock's upgraded frame and the mech he'd known before.





	High Caliber

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh hi
> 
> don't look at me i had to get this out of my system
> 
> thank to @dontgotone for helping me figure out a title for this mess

This was nostalgic, Megatron thought. He peered away from the screen of his datapad and down at the mech cozied up in his lap, nearly dozing. Drift — Deadlock, now — had been happy to take up old habits. Though he was long proficient in reading and writing, he insisted on more lessons. For vocabulary.

 

A likely story. But then again, Megatron hadn’t said no. And now that he’d gotten through the bulk of the daily reports, his own attention wandered. That Deadlock was still so trusting of him to relax and slip near to recharge…

 

Megatron set aside the datapad. Though this hadn’t been rare in their past, he knew that part of Deadlock’s quick fatigue was due to the frame upgrades. They were still integrating, battlefield proficient armor syncing with endo-frame, to knit closely with protoform and make a solid whole. He rested his hand on Deadlock’s chestplate. It was… strange; even the sturdy armor of a mercenary had been different from the thin, durable civilian armor he’d been used to. Now he really did look like the soldier Megatron had asked him to be.

 

He moved his hand a little, fingertips tracing bold angles instead of the usual sweeping curves of a speedster. (Megatron had little doubt that Deadlock’s speed in alt-mode were unaffected.) Just as he was beginning to feel this was too self-indulgent, that he should wake Deadlock up and send him back to his own quarters, he felt the new armor shift under his palm and glanced back up at Deadlock’s face.

 

At some point in their time apart, yellow optics had been swapped for red, but it was still the same face that peered up at him, the same not-quite-awake smile curling his lips. 

 

Megatron couldn’t help but return the smile, briefly. Instead of slipping it away, he rested his hand on Deadlock’s waist. 

 

“Different, huh?” Deadlock said, frame arcing in another stretch as his optics brightened, more alert.

 

Megatron nodded his agreement, but he also murmured, “Yes.”

 

“What do you think?” Deadlock’s optics dimmed again, not out of drowsiness but in a more suggestive manner. Megatron squeezed the plating under his hand, allowing his palm to trace the line of his waist down to his hip.

 

“I think you are appealing no matter the circumstance,” he replied. 

 

That made Deadlock laugh. “No matter the circumstance,” he repeated. “I could say the same for you, then.” He shifted his weight again, pressing along Megatron’s frame and letting his legs shift apart just a little.

 

Megatron tilted his helm, amused. His hand followed automatically, familiar with this particular routine; he traced his fingers along an inner thigh, placing teasing pressure on fresh seams. Deadlock shifted again, his engine turning over as a tone of pleasure colored his EM field. “But I haven’t really changed my frame that much,” he replied.

 

“Irrelevant,” was the reply. 

 

Megatron snorted softly, watching Deadlock move on his lap. That was also different — his movements seemed stiff, though more than upgrades still integrating, he wasn’t used to the decrease in flexibility. Deadlock was still plenty limber, but he couldn’t quite bow his backstruts as he’d been accustomed to. 

 

But he was just as warm and his weight felt just as good, and that was all that mattered. Megatron teased his fingertips  over Deadlock’s heated interface hatch, enjoying the sight of the smaller mech arching back against him and spreading his legs even more. He lazily stroked between Deadlock’s thighs, revelling in the tremble of the new plating against his own, another indulgent smile crossing his lips as the plating beneath his fingertips folded open to reveal equally warm equipment.

 

“Megatron,” Deadlock murmured, his voice wavering in desire. Megatron didn’t keep him waiting long, tracing one fingertip through his valve’s lips, the folds already glistening with lubricant. Deadlock’s intakes shuddered, their pace ticking up just a tad. 

 

The difference in their height was enough that Megatron’s view was superb: the arch of Deadlock’s frame and his legs spread wide over Megatron’s lap… and, if he leaned over Deadlock’s shoulder a little more, even his own fingertips teasing Deadlock’s valve and growing slicker by the moment.

 

Deadlock’s movements were just beginning to edge into outright restlessness when Megatron pinned one of his hips with his unoccupied hand and pushed one finger into Deadlock’s eager valve. The mech stiffened for a moment at the intrusion, then he shivered into Megatron’s frame again, a moan slipping from his parted lips. Megatron watched them, entranced by their trembling as he worked his finger into Deadlock’s primed valve.

 

Despite how tightly his valve squeezed around the first finger, Deadlock was eager to accept another, twisting against Megatron’s front since the hand on his hip kept his lower half more or less still. His hands shifted aimlessly quite a bit, as though searching for something solid to hold onto; they eventually settled onto Megatron’s forearms, squeezing at the plating — one was as still as he managed to keep Deadlock’s hips, but the other shifted to and fro as he gently thrust his fingers into the mech’s slick valve. From the way Deadlock tried to squirm in his lap, soft whines and moans issuing from his vocalizer, it was clear he wasn’t quite at the pace the mech wanted. 

 

That was alright; if Deadlock wasn’t learning vocabulary, he could learn patience.

 

Though not all at once, of course. Deadlock arched against Megatron’s front, his vents panting as he craned his neck back to gaze up into Megatron’s face. Still had plenty of range of motion for that, it seemed. “Megatron — ” he gasped again.

 

This time Megatron answered, though it was only with a soft, rumbling, “Yes?” On some level he knew his field was thick with charge and spread hot through the room, his optics bright with interest and desire as he continually drank in the imagery this all produced. He hadn’t been lying when he said Deadlock was always appealing; in pleasure, he was striking.

 

He’d be lying if he said thoughts of this mech hadn’t lingered in many of his erotic imaginings on lonely, cold nights upon Messatine. 

 

Deadlock didn’t seem capable of formulating an answer to his question, but that was also fine — his question had been mostly rhetorical. Instead, he asked a different one as he finally let his own interface hatch slide away: “Ready?” But Deadlock had already made another spirited attempt at squirming against his frame, having clearly felt the warmth of his extended spike or its length brush against his leg before Megatron had leaned down to murmur against his audio.

 

The smaller mech shuttered his optics with the apparent effort it took to choke out a  _ “yes!” _ — just as eager and enthusiastic as the rev of his engine. 

 

With that, Megatron slipped his fingers nearly out of the tight squeeze of Deadlock’s valve — still reluctant to let go despite the clear tang of anticipation flowing through his field. He turned his hand, holding Deadlock open instead as he shifted the hand on the mech’s hip and guided him over the head of his spike.

 

He felt the shiver crawl up Deadlock’s backstruts and heard his own engine rumble as Deadlock — moving more freely now that Megatron’s hand on his hip was simply squeezing the plating, not pinning him against his larger frame — rolled and rocked his hips down to get as much of Megatron’s spike in him as he could in one go. Calipers clenched around him in pleasure, and trembled as they adjusted wider to accommodate, and if the way Deadlock’s moans became breathy and throaty, optics dimmed to near-nothingness, then he was enjoying it as much as Megatron. He’d withdrawn his fingertips completely and now played with Deadlock’s anterior node, more desire rumbling deep in his engine at the very enthusiastic response that elicited.

 

Deadlock rocked his hips, eager as ever, though his vents labored with it; it was surely an awkward angle for him, given their difference in size, but that’s what Megatron was there for. He had both hands on Deadlock’s hips now, rocking him up and pulling him down into the grinding motion of his own hips, over and over.

 

Had Megatron forgotten how good this felt? Even with as lax in pleasure as his frame was, Deadlock still felt tight around him, the bursts of charge from his nodes lighting up the ones lining Megatron’s spike, somehow making it feel as though the pleasure was concentrated. And when Deadlock shivered in pleasure, at the bright static of those sparking nodes or the touch of Megatron’s fingertips teasing his anterior node — the squeeze and ripple of his valve around his length was nothing short of divine. 

 

His hands now trembled in pleasure as well, gripping Deadlock’s hips tighter than he perhaps meant to. But they were both moving with the same urgency, desire and charge tangible in the air from their EM fields. Any finger-shaped indentations in his plating could surely be smoothed out later.

 

And as intoxicating as this surely was, Megatron suddenly felt limited as they were. His passion for Drift had never truly faded, but their paths had diverged for some time before now… and now that they were so easily intimate again, his hunger suddenly tripled, and his little grinding thrusts up into Deadlock’s valve — as amazing as they felt — wasn’t everything he desired. 

 

But he had an easy solution to that… though it unfortunately required stilling their enthusiastic coupling and lifting the smaller mech off his spike for just a moment. His own plating trembled in pent-up desire, valve twinging in sympathy as Deadlock let out a soft growl of protest. Deadlock began squirming again, as much as he could — Megatron still held him firmly.

 

“Hold still,” he murmured, aware in a detached sense of just how much arousal colored his voice and field, echoed in the thick roll of his engine and the tremble of his own plating.

 

Deadlock, who was contrary on a  _ good _ day, stopped wiggling immediately. 

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Megatron found it immensely amusing. Still, he couldn’t delay, and gently pushed Deadlock forward. Finally, Deadlock got his train of thought, if the way he rested his weight on his knees and forearms was any indication. Megatron wasn’t far behind him, pushing himself to his own knees and squeezing Deadlock’s hips as he scooted forward and lined his spike back up to the mech’s waiting valve.

 

Megatron thrust back in with absolutely no resistance, his low moan at Deadlock squeezing around him in pleasure striking a nice chord with the soft cry Deadlock let out. 

 

This was much better, he thought, rocking his hips freely. He shivered at each jolt of charge that bolted through his spike and up his backstruts every time he nudged the nodes at the ceiling of Deadlock’s valve. Deadlock himself seemed to have lost any capacity to keep his voice contained, but that was fine. It wasn’t as if Megatron cared; all he cared about was this rhythm, deep and steady, the heady charge crackling off their frames and Deadlock’s calipers quivering around him the closer he got to release.

 

When Deadlock  _ did _ overload, his voice was oddly muffled. When he was thinking straighter, Megatron would remember Drift’s penchant for biting his own knuckles or fingertips when overwhelmed with pleasure. For now, his processor was swamped with pleasure, bucking his hips into Deadlock’s still-seizing valve.

 

Then, another notion struck him and he stilled himself — with great effort. Deadlock let out another muffled groan, shivering as Megatron slipped his spike out of his pleasure-hot valve. 

 

Megatron let his engine rumble, at a higher pitch than usual. Gently, he rolled Deadlock over, leaning in so their gazes were level. The mech blinked up at him, optics unfocused as he let his fingers slip slowly out of his own mouth.  _ Wow. _ It was a lovely sight, and if Megatron weren’t so frenetic with having edged himself this way, he’d spend longer appreciating it. But he did kiss Deadlock, unable to resist his soft, parted lips.

 

Deadlock moaned into it, which somehow heightened every sensation for Megatron… the friction of their plating and his spike throbbing to the pulse of his desire. 

 

It was Deadlock who broke their kiss first. He still panted softly, his vents working diligently to cool his overheated frame, but he peered curiously up at Megatron. “You didn’t — ?”

 

Megatron hummed, shifting his hips so that his spike brushed against Deadlock’s inner thigh. “You have one more round in you?” he asked. 

 

A shiver rippled through Deadlock’s plating — amazingly, one of renewed desire. “ _ Yes _ ,” he moaned, shifting beneath Megatron to best accommodate. Megatron’s engine thrummed, revealing his eagerness as he lifted Deadlock’s hips, fitting his own between the mech’s spread legs and nudging the head of his spike back into his hot valve. It almost overly slick with his preceding overload.

 

The groan he let out was equal parts pleasure and relief; his thrill at feeling the inviting squeeze of Deadlock’s valve again was hard to condense into simple feelings or words or thoughts. Megatron half-shuttered his optics, letting his helm rest against the other’s as he began rocking his hips once more. 

 

This was… even more indulgent. No matter how his frame had changed, Deadlock’s features were still the same. It would be so easy to narrow his focus here, to let himself get absorbed in an old setting where he was “just” Megatron — as in electron, or even as in neutron, but not as in someone burdened in leadership and responsibility. He’d overcome his reluctance, as Terminus had advised, and yet sometimes… the fantasy was appealing.

 

But he didn’t allow it. He indulged in the fantasy of the fantasy, but that was all. And there was still Drift.  _ Deadlock. _ An absolute vision beneath him.

 

Deadlock’s helm fell back as he moaned, his legs wrapping snug around Megatron’s waist as the mech thrust into him; it was a slower pace than before, but no less passionate. Feeling the same nodes lighting up around his length as Deadlock’s rippled around him seemed all the more luxurious at this tempo. Megatron let his optics offline completely, his helm resting next to Deadlock’s, managing to nestle his face at the mech’s exposed neck.

 

A choked growl rumbled from the smaller engine below him, his vents ticking up. Megatron smiled a little; he knew what had Deadlock so riled, though he didn’t partake of it on this end (but he was more than willing to allow it from Deadlock as he’d allowed it from Drift). Still, he teasingly nipped one of the cables nearest his mouth, knowing his denta were dull and blunt compared to the sharp sting he’d felt from this mech’s sharpened dentae.

 

“Megatron — ” he gasped, arching against him. Megatron shifted one hand to his waist, trying vainly to keep Deadlock from wriggling too much. But he was able to direct most of the movement into matching his thrusts, which were becoming forceful in their vigor as Megatron reached the point of overload again with Deadlock not far behind him.

 

This time, Megatron didn’t hold it back. Burying his face further against Deadlock’s neck and shoulder, he muffled a low moan. Deadlock clutched at his shoulders, doing nothing to suppress his cries of pleasure this time. He arched his frame as much as he could, rolling his hips with the last of Megatron’s movements and shivering around him as he grew still.

 

Megatron didn’t count the moments they stayed that way, trembling in pleasure and the roars of vents as their frames settled from the exertion and heights of pleasure. But after a time, he lifted his helm, gazing down at Deadlock. The mech hadn’t bothered to online his optics until he felt Megatron move, and even then he just peered up at him lazily, a lax smile wide over his lips — much wider than he would normally display.

 

Something else nostalgic.

 

Megatron grunted as he shifted, a shiver prickling his backstruts as he slipped his spike from Deadlock’s valve and tucked his equipment away behind their panels one more. Deadlock let out a soft noise as well, his optics focusing a little more as Megatron sat up. 

 

This time he did smile down at Deadlock, if briefly. “Come on,” he said softly, immediately defeating the purpose of it as he gathered the smaller mech into his arms and reclined on the berth. Deadlock was more than content to rest against him, engine purring, his still-bare interface making a mess of the combined fluids leaking from his valve. 

 

“Will you stay the night?” Megatron asked. 

 

Deadlock squirmed against him, shifting until he rested his weight more squarely atop Megatron’s broad chestplate. “Yes,” he murmured, optics shuttering once again.

 

Content at that, Megatron let one hand rest against the back of Deadlock’s helm and let his own optics shutter as he drifted into a pleasurable, near-recharge haze.


End file.
